


Our Every Effort

by Phoenix_Grl_1412



Series: Harry Potter Alternate Universes [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Good Petunia Dursley, Good-ish Petunia, Harry has his mother's eyes, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 02:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15305202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Grl_1412/pseuds/Phoenix_Grl_1412
Summary: "She tried to hate him. She wanted to hate him, but she couldn't."A story in which Petunia Dursley makes a different choice and chooses what is best for her nephew.





	Our Every Effort

She tried to hate him. She wanted to hate him, but she couldn't.

She couldn't hate his chubby fingers or his wild, dark hair. She couldn't bring herself to find fault in his baby toes or the way he reached for her whenever she entered the room. She felt no animosity towards his sleeping face, arms and legs spread eagle as he took up as much space as he could in the little bed. His eyes closed, breathing softly as he enjoyed the only peace he'd known since his arrival at Number 4 Privet Drive.

 His eyes were something she both loved and hated. They were her sister's green eyes, and they brought forth memories of pain and of happiness. But in the end, all Petunia could recall was the simple fact that she had left everything unsaid, and she would never have the opportunity to say anything to Lily again.

The only part of him that she could admit to truly disliking, perhaps even hating, was the blasted scar upon his head. Anytime she looked at him, bathed him, watched him sleep it was right there. A reminder that her sister was gone forever, all because of this burdensome baby. She didn't know all the details of that night, but she had enough broad strokes to paint a decent picture. And as much as she wanted to blame him for Lily's death, she couldn't bring herself to do it. She could not hate the child, could not hate Lily for her sacrifice. Petunia is a mother herself, she is no stranger to the desire to protect her child with everything she has in her. And in those moments, she cannot blame her sister, but she has not yet found the strength to forgive her.

 She hadn't heard him laugh or even giggle until months after his arrival; it was almost as if he knew all that he had lost and that he was an unwanted resident in the immaculate Dursley home.

 This wasn't the life she had wanted. She'd had dreams, decades ago, when she and Lily were children and still very close. She wanted to work. She enjoyed planning and organizing down to the tiniest detail. She'd had dreams, of course, of being an astronaut or a teacher or some other such nonsense. But those dreams were not for her. Petunia Evans dreamed of being a secretary, or an event planner, or a receptionist. Some career in which she could use her highly organized and overly critical personality (of which she was quite aware of, thank you very much) for something useful. She even took a typing course later in her life. And when Lily had gotten her letter, she had briefly entertained dreams of being a witch alongside her sister.

 But that was a long time ago, and dreams do not come true for people like Petunia. She is not bright, or talented, or even pretty. She was never as special as Lily. So she settled. She settled for Vernon, for her life as a housewife and an obedient puppet. And when she woke up, years later, and realized that the life she had was not one she wanted, it was far too late. She was too old to be starting over, too tired to try. She and Vernon were approaching another wedding anniversary (in which he would not get her a single gift, like always, but she would wait on him hand and foot, as usual), the house had been paid off, and her darling Dudley ("It's a family name, Pet, a good, strong name for our boy") was already walking and talking. And Harry, well, he had arrived shortly after.

 Vernon hadn't wanted the boy, that much was clear. He remembered his wife's sister and her husband, all the things he'd seen and all the hateful comments Petunia had shouted at her sister. He knew the freakish things the child would get into, and didn't want that around his Dudders("What if he contaminates our boy? I won't let that-that freak harm our boy!"). She didn't want him either, if she was being truthful, but knew that they had few choices available to them. But she was also angry. Angry at her husband for ignoring her needs, ignoring her until he wanted something from her. Angry at her sister for leaving her, when the air between them had not been cleared of the hate, the hurt, and the anger. Angry at that Potter hooligan for dragging Lily into the whole mess in the first place. And she was angry at herself, for settling for the fat man she claimed to love, for letting herself be bullied and pushed around day after day, for not speaking up for herself when she had the chance, for not reaching out when she still could.

 So she argued to keep him. Did what she did best and put forth a logical argument, ranging from Preventing Tarnished Reputations  to Tax Deductions, on why they had no other choice than to keep the boy. And Vernon, the oaf, had no idea that the wife he bossed around had just manipulated him out of sheer spite. They kept the boy, and for the first time in almost a decade Petunia felt proud of herself.

She took care of him, as expected. She washed him, bathed him, fed him, held him as he cried, and got up with both children during the night. She worked twice as hard as she did before, and she should have hated him. He was an unnecessary strain upon her life and her marriage, though she'd wanted to keep the boy to spite her husband. She wanted to hate him, she tried to, but she couldn't. Because even though he was Harry James Potter, son of that hooligan freak, he was also her sole connection to Lily. He was innocent.

 And almost five years since that fateful night, here she was now. Standing in front of the telephone, a scrap of paper in her hand, alternating between staring at the paper, the phone, and her nephew sleeping peacefully on the sofa in the sitting room. Dudley was at a playdate and wouldn't be back until later. Vernon was at work and would pick up Dudley on his way home. And Harry, he was simply taking advantage of a moment of peace. She couldn't blame him.

 She sees what Vernon does, she hears what he says, and knows that things will only get worse from here on out for the boy. She didn't agree with assigning him all those chores, but once Vernon had an idea in his head he couldn't be convinced otherwise. But she did try, lord did she try, and she paid dearly for it. She would not be so direct in her approach in the future. She doesn't agree with the beatings or the cupboard under the stairs, but she cannot argue with Vernon, not again. She has no power, and no strength left to pay the price.

 She can see the warning signs, as if written in fluorescent paint on the wall. Today a bruise, tomorrow a broken bone. Locked in the cupboard turns into locked in the cold, damp, unused root cellar. No dinner tonight becomes no meals until next week. A burdensome, unwanted freak turns into a missing ward. She knows he won't intend to, but between him and their bully of a son, something will happen. It's only a matter of time. Vernon used to say it was a punishment for some minor infraction Harry had caused. But she's noticed, as the years have gone by, that it's happened a little too often, lasts a little too long. Deep in her heart, Petunia knows that he has enjoyed it for some time now, that he looks forward to beating the boy almost as much as he once looked forward to coming home to his family. It sickens her more than she ever thought possible, that the oaf she married could cause such pain to a child.

 Petunia isn't a courageous person. She would not stick her neck out for just anyone. She would do anything to protect her son and herself, and perhaps her husband if there was no risk to her and could potentially work out in her favor. She knows, now, exactly what to say to placate her husband, what topics to avoid, and how to push his buttons to get him to do what she required of him. She knows how Dudley responds to things, and that he'll turn out just like his father. But _he_ is different. According to Vernon, they owe him nothing and that they're saints for giving him as much as they do. Petunia cannot accept that.  She will not. She knows, deep down, that he deserves better than anything that they could give him. He does not deserve this.

He's a sweet boy, loving and kindhearted. His laugh is adorable, and his smile breathtaking, on the rare occasion she witnesses them. He loves to run and he loves to play with the building blocks Dudley received two birthdays ago (and broke the same day). He's polite, and humble, even at such a young age (and she knows that's not how it should be; not how _he_ should be). He's quiet and unobtrusive, and he has a thirst for knowledge and a need to know everything. Rarely can she indulge him, and he's learned not to ask. And she knows that he is one of those things that Petunia would risk her very being to protect.

 She understands, to an extent, why Lily would make the choices that she did. Petunia knows that her sister gave her life to protect Harry, and that the one who killed her has disappeared. Without knowing all the details, she cannot fully comprehend the situation, cannot know for certain what she'd do. She'd like to think that she'd make a similar choice, if she had to, but she prays that she never finds out. She understands, as a mother, Lily's choice. But she also understands it, to a degree, as something she'd do to protect Harry. She would risk herself for him, it if came down to it. Of this she is certain.

 And this is one of those moments. She's refused to think of everything from almost five years ago because she couldn’t stand it. She still can't handle it, not really, but she has to. Harry cannot stay here for his own safety, and the only one she can think of, the only one she has access to, is a man from Lilly's funeral. She had not planned on going, could not bring herself to go, told no one of it. And at the last minute, she went. Because as much as it hurt, as much as she was angry, she loved her sister. She told no one.

 She took up as little space as possible, looked no one in the eye (she knew what sort of people they had to be, and it made her skin crawl), and spoke to no one. The entire service, only one person approached her. He told her his name, his regret, and gave her a scrap of paper in case Harry needed anything. She knew what he was (one of their kind, she's sure), had heard his name once in passing, when she and Lily were still civil. She was going to throw the scrap out as soon as she left, but her traitorous hand slipped the piece of parchment into a slot in her handbag.

 She held on to it for years. She never thought she'd use it. Swore she wouldn't, and yet here she is. She picks up the phone and dials the number he was kind enough to write down for her and prays that the number is still active after five years (she knows how unreliable their kind can be about those sorts of things).

She doesn't wait when a voice hesitantly answers the phone after several rings (seven, to be exact, but who's counting?).

 "Does your offer still stand in regard to the boy?" Petunia asks the man on the other side on the line. She doesn't explain further.

 She listens to the reply, nods her head sharply though he can't see her, and says "Then be here, at Number 4 Privet Drive, as soon as you are able." She hangs up the phone, not waiting for confirmation or for questions. She knows his kind, knows he will arrive shortly, and that the boy's appearance will say more than she ever could. She knows what conclusions he will draw, about her and him and them. He won't be wrong, but he won't be right either. But regardless of that, this needs to be done. It is the safest choice for Harry.

 She is not disappointed as she hears someone knock on the front door. She lets him in, hating the constricted feeling in her heart. From what she remembers, he doesn't look that different. His hair has more grey than she remembered, his clothing just as threadbare, his smile as world weary as it was that day years ago. At least he had the decency to wear normal clothing and not those ridiculous robes his kind seems so fond of.

 She wastes no time in introductions or pleasantries. She leads him to the boy, who's sleeping on the couch. He's arranged himself so that he does not put pressure on any of the cuts and bruises that are hidden beneath his clothing. The bruises on his face tell the remainder of the story. She watches the man creep closer, as if he's afraid to wake the boy. He kneels by the boy and gently reaches out a hand, but at the last minute he stops and pulls his hand back. Petunia gives him the moment he needs to compose himself, to observe and admire the sleeping boy in front of him, to rage at what has been done to him. She leaves the room, partly to give him some privacy but also to gather her nephew's things. There isn't much, just a single bag of some of Dudley's old clothes, a few broken army men, and a book missing its cover. She's ashamed of how little he has, and the poor condition of the items. She hopes that he'll do better for the boy than she has.

 When she returns, he's still staring at the boy. He's a bit closer than he was before, and there is a sad yet gentle smile on his face. He rises when she returns. Their eyes meet, and she can see the anger behind the tears in his eyes. She doesn't address his silent accusations, instead she holds out the bag with his things, and tells him to take the boy and never come back.

 He stares at her, silently. He doesn't reach for the boy, but he doesn't reach for the wand she knows he must have on his person. She knows he's waiting for answers, for her sanity to return, but it won't happen. The boy cannot stay here with her family, he'll end up dead if he does. She ignores how much she wants to keep him close, how every motherly instinct in her body is demanding that she keep this stranger away from the boy. But she knows she must let him go.

 He still isn't moving, still looks like he can't decide whether to cry for the boy or to get his revenge on those who injured the child. "Please," Petunia whispers harshly, "he'll end up dead if you don't. He can't stay here." The man's eyes soften ever so slightly. He stares for a moment longer before he rises and grabs the bag from Petunia and pulls out his wand. With a wave, the bag is gone. He makes a movement with his wand directed at the boy, and the man carefully leans over and gathers the boy in his arms, as if he weighed nothing.

 He walks to the door, and Petunia follows him. He pauses at the door and turns to her, and she feels the pit in her stomach grow larger. "I won't keep him from you. If you want to see him-" Petunia doesn't let him finish. She scowls, knowing that she'll most likely have to spell it out for him. She doesn't want to. She doesn't want to explain what's happened to the boy, what she has let happen. It makes herself sick, and she doesn't want to think about what's going to happen now.

 He meets her eyes, and he seems to understand. He seems to understand that doing this, calling him, poses some risk to Petunia herself. He seems to understand the tough decision she's made, choosing what's best for her nephew rather than herself. But he doesn't know everything.

 So she tells him, what she has to anyway. That the man who left Harry here is sure to be displeased, but that she won’t tell him a thing. She tells him what the boy's favorite bedtime story is and the lullaby she sang to him when he was younger. His frequent nightmares about something he should have been too young to remember and the family he should never have lost. And most importantly, she makes him swear to never bring the boy back. Don't give her any word about him. She doesn't want the boy to think that he has a home he could ever return to.

 And it simply breaks her heart when Remus Lupin agrees to all her conditions. She knows it's for the best. She knows the boy is better off with the man before her, and that he deserves better than anything Petunia could provide for him. But it hurts. It hurts so much, more than she ever thought it would.

 She does not shut the door immediately. She watches the man and the boy walk a short distance away before he turns and the two are gone without a trace. She knows it is the last time she will see either one of them. With no idea as to where the man came from, where he lives, or what he does for a living, she'd never be able to track him down if she tried. It saddens her, to think that she will never see what kind of man her nephew grows up to be, and never again will she look into eyes that are so much like Lily's. But, her heart says, you will never have to hear him whimper in pain and fear, nor see the blood or the bruises.

 It is in that same position, front door open, tears in her eyes, that Vernon finds her some time later. And as he asks what happened, and where the boy is, Petunia begins to shake. She knows what surely awaits her, what will happen to her once Vernon finds out what she's done. But from the look on his face, she thinks he has a guess. He shuts the door and forces her in. He sends their little Dudley to his room, the little boy unaware that his favorite punching bag is gone for good.

 And as Petunia waits for the verbal and physical consequences of her actions, she admits it to herself. Just once, for the first and last time in her life, she'll admit it. She could not hate the boy, could not subject him to whatever Vernon had planned for him. She couldn't hate him because she loved him too much.

 She would hold onto that thought for a long time to come.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first time I've written fanfiction in years. I'm a little rusty, so if you find any mistakes I missed please point them out to me. I've debated about posting more about this, like what happens to Petunia and Harry's life as a result. While I might change my mind later, I think it's complete for now. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please feel free to leave a comment! I appreciate any sort of feedback.


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